


Grand Theft Autumn (Because autumn is the best season)

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Couch Sex, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Gay, Halloween date, M/M, Rain, Rain Sex, Rough Sex, Sleepy Cuddles, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bratty patrick, horny mf pete wentz, pete's carnival date gets ruined, playful banter, post van days, stumpid himbo pete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27026494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Pete tries to take his bf for a nice carnival date but his plans are foiled by fall rain. Don't worry, Patrick makes it up to him.-based on how fucking much it's been raining here ;-; and badly i wish i could go to the fair with my bf and i cant bc of covid
Relationships: Patrick Stump & Pete Wentz, Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Grand Theft Autumn (Because autumn is the best season)

"I can't believe they didn't let us on the farris wheel." Pete groans, slamming the drivers side door closed with a loud thud. Patrick takes off his hat and pours about a cup and a half of rainwater out of it on the rug of Pete's beat up Saturn. “Really ruins my whole halloween vibe.” 

"Pete, it was pouring rain." Patrick deadpans, Pete sliding off his green Nike tennis shoes. It's smells like wet dog, Patrick's glasses are almost completely steamed up. Pete's hair is frizzy from humidity, curling in the back and around his ears. Patrick finds it oh so charming when his air does that. “And it’s only September.” 

"There's no lighting." Pete looks out the window, slamming his keys into the car to turn on the heat. "I gave that son of a bitch all my cash, all I wanted was a romantic kiss on the top of it." Pete expects everything with their relationship to be like The Notebook, hopefully less toxic and less...heterosexual. Patrick feels charmed, what Pete said was sweet. “Then I’d suck your dick behind the churro cart.” 

Moment ruined. 

God damn Pete Wentz.

"Fist of all, you gave him a five dollar bill, and second, I'm terrified of heights so that would've been romantic when I started having a panic attack." Patrick ruffles a hand through his frizzy, amber hair, spluttering water everywhere like a dog shakes off. “And finally, suck my god damn dick when it’s not twenty degrees outside and fucking raining, Pete…I..I don’t want frostbite of the balls.” 

"Yeah...true." Pete pouts, starting the car. "I guess I'm just pissed we couldn't have a nice date. And..what would I do if your balls stopped doing their thing.” Pete's white shirt clings to his chest, practically see through. Patrick eyes the thorn tattoos around his collar and his nipple ring is visible and poking out. 

"We can try the fair tomorrow, you know, when it's not pouring rain." Patrick grabs Pete's hand, the one that's not to the steering wheel. He presses Pete's knuckles to his lips, giving each finger and knuckle a small kiss. "Let's go home, we can order pizza and watch Breakfast Club and Final Destination." Petes eyes light up at ‘pizza’ like a puppy at the word treat. Patrick can’t help but smile at that. 

“Can we go back to the whole blow job thing….cuz I’m pretty sure that the apartment is warmer than twenty degrees…” Pete cracks a smile, his fringe stuck on his face from water. Patrick smiles, rolls his eyes and give him a playful shove to the shoulder. 

“Turn on the radio, drive and shut up or you won’t even get a kiss good night.” Patrick pouts, acting offended. 

“Aw Patty-Cakes, you wouldn’t make me sleep on the couch…would you?” Pete drums his fingers on the steering wheel, rain pounding on the wind shield. The bassist moves his hand from the gear stick to Patrick’s soaked, denim covered thigh. He tenses, body heating up even though he was freezing. 

“Thinking about it right now.” He sputters, trying his hardest to stay calm. 

“I’m thinking about pounding that ass in my back seat right now. The rain will hide what we do but not your sounds…you want all the carnies to know you’re a screamer?” Pete says it in such a low and sultry tone its hard for Patrick to tell if he’s joking or not. The hand on Patrick thigh and the drop In his stomach indicates something else and maybe, just maybe, that something else might be an early stage boner. 

“Drive the car, Pete.” Patrick pushes his hand off of his thigh, trying his hardest not to be flustered or make it obvious he’s so incredibly turned on by Pete. Pete sighs, Patrick thinks that he’s on to his hard-to-get move, and the fact he’s very against car sex. Do you know how much the worn leather of post-hardcore bassist’s cheap car chafes against your sweaty back?

They pull up to the apartment, both of them stumbling in the door. They leave little puddles and footprints of water all over the lobby and up the stairs. Each time Pete takes a step, his water-filled tennis shoes making sqwelsh noises. Pete's clothes were already skin-tight, but now they are bone tight...if that's a thing. It reminds Patrick of when they shower together, Pete's hair stuck to his face and his golden skin shimmery with water. Pete makes banter and contuses to complain about, quote: “That damn carney didn’t know what fucking lighting was if it shot him in the face. I just wanted to make out with my hot piece of ass on top of his ride.” Patrick just giggles and nods, knowing that he is in fact, that hot piece of ass. They stand at the doorway, looking at the newly vacuumed carpet that is the mud room of the band's apartment. Andy had just done a deep cleaning of the place, even if he doesn't live here, he still keeps everything in order.

Joe also had just tidied up, and Pete and Patrick's muddy feet are here to ruin it. Last time Joe come home to a mess, he got so pissed off he left to live back at his mom’s place for a week. The apartment looked like a landfill while he was gone, Pete, Patrick and Andy aren’t exactly the cleanest group of boys. 

"Should we take off our shoes and leave them outside?" Pete says, not wanting to anger Joe. “I think I completely ruined my sneakers.” 

"Someone's gonna steal 'em." Patrick looks up at Pete, who stares longingly at the closet that has three towels in it. The AC of the apartment hits both of them like a eighteen wheeler, both of their cold clothes react like ice. Patrick shivers, biting his bottom lip. 

"Nah. No one wants to steal neon sneakers and your beat up converse." Pete chuckles, kicking off his wet sneakers and socks. His toenails are painted black, along with his fingernails. Pete's feet smell of watered down Vanilla Coke and soccer field turf. Pete slipped on a patch of wet grass in the parking lot, spilling his very large soda all over his shoes and Patrick's chest. He said it was an accident, but Patrick is sure it was juts a ploy to get him to remove his shirt. It didn’t work, by the way. Patrick wouldn’t give Pete that satisfaction. The rain washes a lot of the sugary residue away, but the smell must've soaked into the sneakers. 

"My converse are very stylish." Patrick protests, crossing his arms against his wet teeshirt.

"If someone steals them, I'll buy you new ones, princess.” Pete presses a kiss to Patrick's rain-scented hair. Patrick scoffs and rolls his eyes. He’s not a fucking princess. 

"Deal?" Patrick looks up at him with dewy glasses. “And no pet names. It’s weird as fuck.”

"Deal." Pete walks into the door as Patrick kicks off his shoes and socks. “And pet names are cute, Ricky. Just like when you call me dad-“

“Enough, Pete.” 

“Oh come on. It’s the same.”

“I only call you that in bed because your name is fucking Peter Lewis Wentz the fucking third. You want me to moan out your trust fund fucking rich boy name? Get the London look?” Patrick hisses, making aggressive hand motions and getting flustered.

“Kingston-Wentz the Third…and you need to eat something, baby. You’re hangry.” Patrick rolls his eyes and walks into the living room. 

The pair fumble into the living room, Pete grabbing two beach towels from the drawers. Patrick is freezing, his small body doesn't take the cold too well. He fears he might catch another cold, which would suck because his voice gets affected by coughing. He is a singer after all. Pete returns shirtless, his wet skinny jeans rubbing against each other every time his thighs brush. It make a whispery sound, whisking chafe as he walks across the creaking floor boards. Pete raps a towel around Patrick, pulling him into a warming hug. Patrick squeaks when Pete squeezes his ass, embarrassing, he knows. Pete takes a deep sniff of Patrick's wet hair, burying his nose in the strawberry blonde locks. "You smell so clean like this....makes me wanna do dirty things to you." 

Patrick can't get hard, he's way too cold. His whole body is wet, he can feel a cold brewing in his freezing chest. There are goosebumps poking up his ginger arm hair, his nipples are fucking frozen. Pete moves his hand under the back of Patrick's soaking shirt, his warm hand feeling on the small of Patrick's back. Pete's chapped and cold lips press against his, Patrick's arms slung over Pete's bare shoulders. It's a good kiss, one that has miraculous properties, because Patrick's frozen dick perks to life. Pete smiles in the kiss, feeling the nineteen year old's boner press against his thigh. "How long 'till Joe gets back?" Patrick says, Pete's hands undoing his belt between them. 

"I don't know. Don't matter." Pete smiles, hands pulling down Patrick's wet jeans with a soft plop. Normally, Patrick would say: no we can't do anything if they come home, but all he does is moan a soft ‘Jesus, Pete’ into the kiss. Pete has a strange effect on people. Patrick feels bad about the plenty of times Joe has walked in on them in compromising situations. Busting Pete out of handcuffs after Patrick miss-placed the key is at the top of Joe Trohman’s Most Traumatizing Experiences. 

"Can I blow you? Right here?" Patrick asks, cupping Pete's bulge with his left hand. Pete sucks in a sharp breath, his dick twitching under Patrick's touch. 

"Can't say no to that." Pete chuckles, un doing his belt and tossing it to the side. It is a struggle, warm rain from the Illinois fall and tight denim from the women’s section at Macy’s doesn’t mix. Patrick hold in a laugh as he watches Pete kick off his jeans and grunt in frustration. “Where'd you want me?" He says finally, his wet jeans tossed to the side. 

"Couch is fine.” Patrick says, pulling down Pete's boxers in one swift motion. The bassist falls onto to the couch, hard cock standing tall between his legs. Pete was no modestly sized, not even close. Patrick moves between his legs, his knees getting slightly burned under the rug. Rug burn is okay if he's pleasing his man. Who needs knees anyways? Patrick is still shivering, but he flushes hot red when his hands rap around the base of Pete's thick dick. The sound Pete makes is enough for Patrick to feel him self get close, even if he hasn't been touched yet. 

"Fuck, don't look at it like you don't know how to open your mouth and put something big inside." Pete groans, Patrick's cold hands moving up and down his shaft. 

"You're so much sexier when you're quiet." Patrick says, his glasses sliding to the end of his nose as he slips his rips around the hot and swollen tip. Pete shuts up right away, tensing up everywhere. Pete is hot and salty in Patrick's mouth, moving his head up on the length. Patrick's always been good at rhythm, maybe it was the fact he was a drummer for so long. That transcends into his blowjobs, his hands, tongue and mouth move in unison. Pete loves it, he's making loud, greedy noises to prove it. He plays with Patrick's hair, yanking on it when Patrick pulls off to lick the underside of his cock. Patrick hates the hair pulling, he’s sure he will get pre-mature balding because of how rough Pete is when he fucks the singer’s face…but a part of him loves it. He loves the attention, the heat, the want, the admiration. Petes thighs are damp, they press on either sides of Patrick’s soft face. His glasses fog up and slide down his nose, the singer makes a mental note to not wear glasses when he gives head. Oh god, what if his glasses got caught on Pete’s pubes?! 

"Fuck, Patrick. I'm close." He moans, bucking his hips forward. Pete brushes the back of Patrick's throat, tipping off the fragile pearl that is the singer's gag reflex. Patrick doesn't want to choke, or oh god, throw up. Luckily, he thinks fast on his feet - well on his knees - so he pulls off and finishes Pete off with his hands. Pete cums in white spurts on Patrick's chin, shoulder and lap. Patrick won't be able to get the stain out, but he's okay with that. He didn't really like this shirt anyways. Pete is out of breath, naked on the couch with Patrick between his legs. Patrick is covered in cum, lips swollen and coated in saliva, hair messy and glasses falling off of his nose. He's also so hard it hurts, rubbing his thighs together, praying for friction. 

"Alright, I'm gonna take care of you now." Pete smirks, helping Patrick up. His hands trace the hem of his shirt, pulling it off. Patrick feels self conscious, but that quickly disappears when Pete tells him how sexy he is. Patrick feels sexy, the way Pete eyes his body. Patrick's cum-stained and soaking teeshirt hits the carpet with a slop. "On the couch, ass up. I wanna think about fucking you every time we watch a movie." 

"Oh my god." Patrick groans, jumping on the couch on all fours. Pete wastes no time, spreading him open and spitting on his fingers. Patrick can take it, it's far past the disaster that was his first time bottoming. Patrick practically lost his ass-virginity to strawberry lube rather than Pete's dick, but that's not right now. Currently, Patrick is taking two of Pete's fingers with hardy any sound. He hisses, but that's far from the main attraction. Main attraction being Pete's rapidly re-hardening cock. 

“Look at that arch, Stump, you are a national treasure." Pete runs his hands along Patrick's spine, before he pulls him open again.

“Come on.” 

"You taking that like nothing, you little, fucking slut." Pete laughs, rubbing his free hand on his own dick, coaxing it back to an erection. Patrick tenses, he likes it when Pete degrades him just a little too much. 

"Fuck, just fuck me." Patrick retorts in a bratty tone, rocking his hips back on Pete's fingers. “You and your fucking baby dick.” Pete chooses to ignore that comment on his penis size because he knows that he is not small. Patrick knows that. Little shit. 

"Yeah? No lube?" Pete laughs, pressing a kiss to the small of Patrick's back. The strawberry blonde nods, grasping his hands at the unsavory colored couch cushions. Who the hell chooses a brown couch? "Alright. I don't wanna hurt you, so tell me to stop if it hurts." Pete shrugs, that’s a lie, he wants to be rough and he wants to fuck him purple for making that comment on his dick size. He is not small. Moving up on his knees and holding the pale hips up with his cock. Patrick liked the pain, he does. Pete uses spit as lube, it's not fantastic, but it works. Pete is a lazy fuck for not just walking to his room and grabbing the bottle he keeps in the sock drawer but this is urgent. 

"Fuck....that's good." Patrick groans, biting down on his lip as Pete pushes in. Pete lets out a deep breath in relief, the singer warm and tight around him. 

"Yeah?" Pete smirks, pushing in deeper with every thrust. He moves to the left fist, then when he starts moving towards the center Patrick goes insane. 

"Pete, I'm close....touch me please." Patrick cries out, a pit in his stomach getting deeper. Pete's dick goes in deeper as well, the hot tip slamming on the outline of Patrick's sweet spot. 

"No, you're coming for me like this." Pete demands, he too feeling very close to his second climax. Patrick argues, but a couple more thrusts in the same direction sends him over the edge, screaming into the couch cushion. He comes all over his stomach and the couch, so hard he's going to feel it in the morning. He completely forgotten that he was cold and wet twenty minutes ago, he's hot and...and...happy. He's orgasm high as Pete keeps up his aggressive pace on his ass. 

Pete comes inside of him, a mess of fuckfuckfuck and Patrick as he comes down and pulls out. Pete falls back on the couch, Patrick rolling over on his back. Pete moves between his legs, laying his head on Patrick's chest. Pete's nipple ring knocks against Patrick's shoulder, when Pete yelps in pain, he hits his boyfriend in the nose with his forehead. They both laugh, Patrick holding his nose and Pete holding his left nipple. 

"Fuck, maybe we should cuddle on the bed. The area is bigger." Patrick laughs, toying with Pete's soft hair.

"No, here. The area is smaller." Pete chuckles, placing a kiss to Patrick's chest.

"What about Joe?" Patrick looks down at him. "We're naked and shit."

"Fuckin fine. My room." Pete stands up, nipple ring still stinging for getting caught. Nothing hurts more than a piercing getting caught. Patrick picks up their clothes as Pete falls back on his bed with open arms. 

"Let's go out in the rain more." Pete smiles against Patricks neck, hand tangled in the singer’s. Patrick’s hair is still wet, he needs a shower because he smells like cum and lube, but also of a wet dog. 

“I need a fucking shower because of you and your date ideas.” Patrick scoffs, running his free hand through Petes messy and wet hair. The rain and humidity is making Pete’s hair frizzy, soft and curly and Patrick loves it. 

“Wait, lemme come.” Pete sits up with Patrick as he goes to take a quick shower. Patrick rolls his eyes but it’s not a no either.

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall! More fall stuff bc its the best. U can talk 2 me on tumblr @ 5footpissboy <3


End file.
